


ship turned (Balancing the Equation Remix)

by recrudescence



Category: House MD
Genre: Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-16
Updated: 2010-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 11:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recrudescence/pseuds/recrudescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amber was always the girl who made the rest of the class groan every time she raised her hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ship turned (Balancing the Equation Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bell (bellaboo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaboo/gifts).
  * Inspired by [ship turned](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/763) by bell (bellaboo). 



She had her suspicions. Amber was never the type to skimp on research. She had wanted that job more than anything and had stopped at nothing to snag it. That entailed attentively peeling back layers and examining every accessible facet of Dr. House's life, including his only friend's.

 

Amber was also never one to step away from anything that intrigued her.

 

Dr. Wilson was an anomaly, the oncology head who lived in a hotel and was best friends with the biggest bastard in the hospital. A life-shaped blip on the radar of House's reputation. And after the window to being one of House's new fellows slammed shut, after she had held his socket-stabbing existential crisis in her hands and passed it on intact, Amber left Princeton-Plainsboro with something she hadn't been seeking at all.

 

House did not approve. House wanted joint custody. House sent a hooker to her place in order to frame Wilson for cheating. House swore up and down Wilson was gay and living in denial.

 

His dedication was fascinating even when it was annoying as hell. One thing Amber always had in spades was pride. “If he ever leaves me for a man, at least it isn't going to be you,” she curtly assured him once, and only in hindsight did she find it odd that he hadn't made any response to that.

 

The gossip turned out to be true. Dr. Wilson—James—was, in fact, amazing in bed. Always dedicated to the last detail, as if leaving a woman unsatisfied would be a black mark on his record. Amazingly nice. Amazingly tolerant of House. And always, always bringing things back to House, talking like a kid with a crush. Amber noticed the overlap early on. He was as intent on healing as any doctor might be, and then some, but keeping tabs on someone as self-isolating as House seemed more like an experiment in masochism than anything else. She supposed that could be purely due to her comparatively untrained eye. Training was therefore in order.

 

“I know you've known him for over a decade,” she said, as James was standing pajama-clad in her kitchen with a glass of water, “but how have you managed to stay friends for so long?”

 

“Mutual respect and compatibility,” James answered, not batting a lash. “Isn't it obvious?”

 

She suggested that they have House to dinner. Point-blank. “You know what? This custody system is bull. Invite him over sometime.”

 

“He'll screw everything up.” James had his nose to her nape, breath warm against her skin. “Do you really want to let that in through the front door?”

 

“You can handle him.” He snorted eloquently and she turned, fingers in the too-long hair behind his ears, her mouth moving into a small smirk against his temple. “Usually, anyway. What makes you think I can't?”

 

Dinner, when it occurred, went over without any unforeseen hitches. She passed the wine and called him Greg. Table settings arranged to perfection, place mats matching her skirt, since she was so sure House would make a cutting remark about it, and she smiled to herself when he did.

 

In preschool, she had had impeccable table manners, the first in her class to learn to cut with a knife, a fork, and a spoon. She was first for a lot of things. Some subjects came easily to her, and when they didn’t she studied her ass off and kept asking questions until it made sense. The girl who made the rest of the class groan every time she raised her hand. Amber was accustomed to blocking out those groans. Her sister, Melody, never understood these things, why she made everything a competition. _It’s no fun if you don’t try_, Amber would insist, but Melody wouldn’t be swayed, never tempted. Amber had been born second, but always had to be the first to know everything.

 

And all through dinner, as Greg watched James and pretended he wasn't watching anything, Amber was filling in missing variables one by one.

 

“Do you miss him when you're with me?” she asked James when it was just the two of them, sleep-edged and curled together on the couch.

 

He pressed a kiss into her hair and slowly stroked a hand up and down her back for quite a while before saying anything at all. “House is a big part of my status quo.”

 

 

*****

 

 

“You aren’t doing him any favors,” House told her another evening, when he came over looking for James. “You’re not teaching an old dog new tricks.”

 

“He needs someone who can be there for him without sucking him dry,” she said. “Someone a little less high-maintenance who doesn't have a death wish.”

 

House studied some framed photos on her bookshelf. “Right. And you're a total earth-mother type. It makes perfect sense now.” He thinned his lips, fingertips drumming a quick tattoo against the head of his cane. “He always relapses,” Greg said, not the faintest thread of mockery in his words this time. “I know the pattern by now.”

 

House was the one who magnified everyone's flaws while Amber occasionally exploited them and James methodically took everything in stride. She knew this, and somehow hearing House say something this candid still left her silent. “I'll tell him you're here,” she said quietly, and went to send James to the door.

 

“Her sister,” James was explaining to Greg, who was squinting at another picture frame. Amber hung up from ordering dinner and grinned when James clarified, “They're twins.”

 

“She has a twin?” House looked horrified. “Two of her are allowed to exist?”

 

“Fraternal,” she said calmly, walking over. Thinking of pecking James on the cheek just to watch the ire bloom on House’s. “Pizza should be here in twenty. Greg, I'm assuming you've invited yourself.” And she neatly plucked the wallet from House's pocket.

 

Amber didn't consider herself old-fashioned, but she firmly believed in the benefit of families, however unconventional, congregating around the table. Sharing stories, sharing food, even if they were stories about cranial hemorrhages and the food was from Pizza Hut. House didn't even use his dining room, Wilson had said to her once. This, for him, was a luxury, whether he knew it or not. She didn’t know how often James would eat alone in the hotel, didn’t care to, just knew that she could change that, make a difference for the better. The two of them only needed to let it happen.

 

*****

 

 

The next time House came by to claim James on one of “his” days, Amber simply put her foot down and refused. “We're not going to divide James's life into custody battles and time slots. I don't want that anymore, and I doubt James wants it for any reason beyond keeping you from doing something self-destructive if you don't get your way.”

 

James, seated between them on the couch, looked at the door. “I think she's right. We can't keep everything separated forever.”

 

“You have no idea how noble it is having my decisions made for me. Really. No idea.” House's eyebrows flirted dangerously with his hairline. He leaned in towards her, voice lowered conspiratorially. “No one ever accused Wilson of being a very independent thinker.”

 

“I like him.” Amber pronounced each word slowly and carefully, as if she were trying to train a particularly recalcitrant housepet. “A lot. _You_ like him. And I think maybe you like me because I remind you of yourself. Could we maybe stop trying to one-up each other?”

 

The tension did not diffuse at all. Amber sighed. “You obviously have a crush on him,” she stated, turning off the television. “Let's talk about it.”

 

James sputtered. House sighed. Neither of them said a word. Amber nonchalantly helped herself to another macaroon and waited politely.

 

“Let me explain something to you. This might be a difficult concept for home-wrecking prima donnas to grasp, but we don’t need to talk about how we feel.” Greg was scowling at her. “We just know.”

 

“What an interesting use of the royal we. Some might say that's a sign of the submissive partner.” And she sipped her drink and smiled, sweet and cherry-red. “Also of note:referring to a common home. _How_ long has it been since you lived together?” Mathematical and methodical, putting the right components into place.

 

He tapped his chin with mock concern. “_How_ long has it been since you acted cutthroat and bitchy, not to mention amazingly fucking presumptuous?”

 

She really could view them as a couple, aside from the lack of physical contact. Two people so totally wrapped up in each other, almost codependent, but so, so accustomed to playing it safe by playing dumb. “_Sometimes_ it's nice to work past things you might have been conditioned to think you were better off not acknowledging.” James was gripping her hand so tightly it hurt, and she lightly touched the opposite one to his frantically jiggling leg. “And since no one else was ever going to point that out—”

 

“Amber.” James wasn't looking at either of them now, and his face seemed tired. “Don't. Please, just don't.”

 

*****

 

 

As it turned out, picture frames didn't fare very well when confronted with one well-placed sweep from a vengeful cane.

 

“So!” Amber said brightly, emptying the dustpan and squinting at the floor for any more glass shards. “You don't think you're ready to quit courting and break out the whips and chains?”

 

“No one,” James said flatly, focused utterly on winding the vacuum cord, “is _courting_. House was right—you were out of line.”

 

“I know you try not to see him as just another person you want to fix, but sometimes neither of you buy that.”

 

“He's my best friend. And he's been one of the only constants in my life for ages now.”

 

Amber looked up mildly. “Yet you prescribe his pain medication. Conflict of interest much?”

 

“At least that way I know how much he's taking. Theoretically.” To James, there were too many things that could go wrong if someone else filled that role, and Amber knew he liked being a bit of a caretaker.

 

“When you essentially live, work, and play together, you have no room to wonder why you grate on each other’s nerves.”

 

“He _grates on my nerves _because he's an ass.”

 

“An ass who's there for you when it matters and hates when he can't have you to himself.”

 

“When did you start being his one-person fan club?” Sharp-voiced, still steadfastly facing towards the hall closet instead of towards her.

 

She crossed the room and took the vacuum from him. His eyes were downcast, filled with a mingling of frustration and confusion. “Oh,” threading both arms around his middle, letting him sink against her like a man with absolutely no energy left, “there's at least one other person in the club.”

 

*****

 

 

When it did happen, it wasn't for weeks. House made himself scarce and Amber made herself scarce right back. His bravado overshadowed his vulnerability, and even she wasn't going to say that to his face.

 

She wished it could be simple enough to just _order_ them to kiss, but Greg would only refuse out of spite and James would do another deer-in-the-headlights impression.

 

On the other hand, she could instigate. Letting her mouth wetly meet James's as Greg looked on, then demurely taking her leave for the bathroom and _hoping_.

 

Coming out to find House giving him the same treatment, almost defensively.

 

He looked at her and Amber looked back. “Remember, treating an attraction like a joke is just an excuse to act like it isn't real.”

 

“Shut up,” House told her cheerfully.

 

Seeing James kissing Greg for the first time was adolescence all over again and almost hurt to watch. Tentative, cautious, as if neither of them trusted everything not to burst into flame. Then James had his fingers caught in Greg's shirt and Greg's back to the couch, mouths open and wet and working slowly against one another, hips pushing and gasps unrolling from throats. Amber not wanting to interrupt, but not wanting to stop watching either.

 

House, lying on his back, eyes closed and sneakers propped on a couch arm, gave every appearance of having a massive hangover. “Christ. When did all this even _happen_?”

 

“It's kind of like puberty,” Amber offered. “When you can’t believe the scrawny, acne-splotched kids in your science class will ever grow into men. And then, you know, time goes by and you begin to notice they actually are.”

 

“This is not a very convincing argument, Amber,” James began.

 

Greg simply stretched up from the couch and put a finger to her lips before she could open her mouth again. “Cool. It works.”

 

*****

 

“I'm not gonna stop burping in front of you just 'cause it’s not _hot_,” House declared at dinner one night, punctuating the remark all too predictably. Amber smirked and James shook his head, since House wouldn’t be House if he wasn’t crude and when your history was so intimately tied with someone else's that you'd helped them wipe their own ass, there really wasn't much less sexy than that.

 

Working in reverse was strange sometimes: instead of two new lovers learning to know each other better, the two of them had to learn to take a step back. Dealing with a surplus of self-awareness and not getting bogged down by things they already knew. Sometimes it seemed so absurdly simple.

 

“I think you two have withstood that test and many more,” Amber answered.

 

James's eyes were wry. “That's not very appealing.”

 

“That's devotion.” she corrected, and she kissed him.

 

 

*****

 

House’s bedroom smelled like sweat and unwashed clothes, not like Amber’s place where everything was clean and orderly. House was the embodiment of organized chaos with his angles and randomness, quirks and words jutting out like loose boards on a ramshackle building. Amber felt smooth compared to him, sanded and painted to a shine.

 

Her bed, in addition to being neater, was also larger and therefore more convenient.

 

Easily big enough for three, perfect for lazy evening spend with the covers and blinds both down.

 

It was familiar, now, the additional presence, down to the scent of him—not of sweat and dirty clothes, despite his appearance; House always kept himself clean, if not his apartment. She could remember James telling her about one of his former fellows coming across him sitting in the shower, high as a kite. Amber's whole body was tensing, anticipating the brush and burn of facial hair along her skin. Grinning around a gasp, arcing, parting her thighs, letting him _lick. _Long hands splayed over the soft skin of her stomach, kneading there, taking his time, working at her with his tongue alone, fingers playing her nerve endings like piano keys.

 

James holding her and hushing her and stroking back her hair and Greg's mouth on her as he was crooking his fingers and concentrating so utterly on making her feel incredible. She almost expected to wake up in a lecture hall with a number around her neck and realize it wasn’t true.

 

Lounging back against the headboard, afterward, and sharing the taste of her with James, languorous and openmouthed and slow. Greg was looking extremely pleased with himself. Wide eyes and lined forehead smoothing, hair fluffed up like feathers and every inch of him riveted on James like there’d never been a more fascinating subject. “Beat that.”

 

James's face was pink. “I thought one-upping each other wasn't allowed.”

 

“All things in moderation.”

 

And James uttered a low, real laugh and put a hand on each of them.

 

 

*****

 

 

“You know,” Greg said. He always pulled words over himself along with blankets, not able to leave himself bare in any way for very long. “I managed to not have a midlife crisis when I was about to fall over the hill. What's your excuse?”

 

“Your life is a crisis in and of itself, so why differentiate?”

 

“I think,” he steamrolled on, “it's because you suddenly want to cram in all the hot, kinky sex you can while you can still delude yourself into thinking you're young and limber, that's why.” He simpered. “Wanna Netflix _The Bucket List_?”

 

“Wanna go to a nude beach?” James countered, bland as could be.

 

“Are you kidding me?”

 

“Am I?”

 

“You are _not_.” Greg was smiling crookedly. “You’re trying to see how receptive I am. _No_.”

 

“Oh, you _wish_.”

 

“They're overrated,” Amber sniffed dismissively, which effectively ended the conversation.

 

On one side of her, James trailed fingers over her stomach and spooned even closer behind her when she kissed him. On the other side, Greg pushed up onto one elbow to curve a hand under James's chin and do the same

 

 


End file.
